


Upstart

by archeolatry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Pride and Prejudice References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeolatry/pseuds/archeolatry
Summary: A gift for museaway: a scene that wouldn’t let go after reading her work “First Impressions”. Starring Chuck in the role of Lady Catherine de Burgh. (Yes, I know Castiel’s father is dead in her work. Tell that to my muses.)______________________The man extended his hand with a mirthless smile. “Charles Novak.”Dean twisted his sneer into a knowing smirk. “Nice to meet you, Chuck.”





	Upstart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [museaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/gifts).
  * Inspired by [First Impressions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7381816) by [museaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway). 



> The title is taken from Chapter 56 of Pride and Prejudice, spoken by Lady Catherine: “And what is to divide them? The upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune.”

Harvelle’s was slow even for a Monday, and Dean was running out of things to do. He’d practically scrubbed the varnish off the bar, had dusted every bottle of every liquor from top shelf to bottom. (“Fucking _blue curaçao?_ How old is _that?_ ”) He had half a mind to touch up the paint in the ladies’ room when the door swung open, spilling white light into the dark corners of the bar.

He was on the taller side--Dean’s moose of a brother had forever skewed his definition of ‘tall’--with heavily graying hair and a beard to match. Thin but not lanky. Soft in the midsection. Late sixties, maybe early seventies. Wore a sharp tailored suit and a gold stickpin in his tie.

Dean gave him an assessing glance: guys like him usually rolled in from Topeka looking for some strange, or a low key-place to get absolutely hammered. But he didn’t slink in like that type normally did. This one walked straight towards Dean with his head held high.

He folded his arms on the bar in front of him. “You must be Dean Winchester.” 

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s askin’?” he sneered.

The man extended his hand with a mirthless smile. “Charles Novak.”

Dean twisted his sneer into a knowing smirk. “Nice to meet you, Chuck.”

They exchanged a firm, guarded handshake. If the nickname bothered Chuck, he didn’t bat an eyelash.

“Castiel’s told me so much about you.”

“All good, I hope,” Dean winked.

“That’s what I’d like to talk to you about.” Chuck’s shit-eating grin was plastered on tight as he took in the whole of the bar. “What do you have for whiskey around here?”

“We sell a lot of Jack Daniel’s,” Dean said with a shrug. “I’m more of a Johnnie Walker man myself.”

“Two Johnnie Walkers, then,” Chuck said. “Blue, if you have it.”

Dean bit his tongue, for Cas’ sake. “Black okay?”

Chuck nodded.

Dean pulled out the bottle--thankful now for that dusting, lest that smug son of a bitch know how little action that bottle really saw--and poured them heavy. Chuck took one and nudged one toward Dean. Chuck then lifted the glass, holding it aloft in silent toast. Dean did the same.

Chuck took a long pull. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even make a face. Dean couldn’t help but wince a little at the strong whiskey, but managed a practiced neutrality. Neither man seemed to blink.

Up close, Dean could see that Chuck was the source of Cas’ big blue eyes--though they could hardly be compared. Cas’ were as wide and loving as heaven. Chuck’s were steely and gray, unclouded by sentiment.

“Dean,” Chuck began, “did my son tell you that he was born with pulmonary atresia?”

“With what now?”

“An abnormality in his heart.”

The revelation stung. He hadn’t. Dean shook his head.

“Yes. He came out blue, you know. And for a while we weren’t sure if he was going to make it.” Chuck’s expression faded into one that might have been called wistful on another man. “His mother, rest her soul, was far more devout than I ever was.” He held his whiskey aloft again, sipping it lightly under his moustache. “His name was supposed to be Charles Raymond Novak the Third. Instead, we ended up with Castiel James Novak.” The name tripped bitterly over his tongue. “The angel of Thursday, and the patron saint of the dying.” 

He finished off the last of the Johnny Walker before setting his glass down heavily. “He had three open-heart surgeries before he could crawl. His mother and I, we _lived_ at Children’s Mercy Hospital. We even rented an apartment in Kansas City so that one of us could always be near. It was not inexpensive, but we wanted to be sure that he was given the absolute _best_ of care.” 

Dean efflared a laugh. “You tryin’ to tell me to be careful with your little boy’s heart?”

The last of Chuck’s smile fell from his face, his eyes suddenly cold and tempestuous. “Mister Winchester... _Dean_...” Chuck’s lip curled over his name, like a foul smell. “My grandfather began this firm out of an office above a general store. He took an immigrant name and made it into an American one. And, yes, he made a respectable fortune doing so. All this I hope to pass to Castiel when my time comes, just as my father did for me and his father did for him. And though my son is--” Chuck swallowed the word, instead using “--defective--”, which flared Dean’s anger to white-hot “--in that regard, I will not have our legacy or fortune compromised by a mechanic with a GED. I will not.” 

“I don’t think that’s your call, Chuck,” Dean said quietly, resisting the urge to throttle him across the bar. “You’re retired. Castiel is Senior Partner and a _grown fucking man_.”

“My name still opens doors, Dean" he said calmly. "It also closes them.”

Dean swallowed at the thinly veiled threat, his tone suddenly placid. “Leave Sam out of this. He’s a good kid, and he worked damned hard.” 

“And with the right introductions, I’m sure Sam will be very successful. I believe Castiel has already put in a word for him with another firm.”

“In Topeka, which is pretty convenient for you.”

Chuck’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“So you don’t have Sam knocking on Gabriel’s door, either.” Dean sighed, resigned. “Look Chuck, I don’t exist just to make your life miserable, okay? And I didn’t send my little brother to college so he could come back and fetch me a sugar daddy.”

“And yet here we are,” Chuck said, arms outstretched. “I’ll admit that Sam’s friendship with Gabriel has been good for him. I wasn’t the most hands-on of fathers” --Dean had to stifle a ‘No shit, buddy’-- “and Sam has calmed him down considerably. I have no problem with that.” Chuck leaned in. “But **you**. I don’t know what it is about you that’s gotten under Castiel’s skin. I wouldn’t put it past you to make certain connections--to worm your way into his life and endear yourself to him. To make him forget what he owes himself and his family." Chuck glared at him. "He wouldn't be the first rich man to be distracted by a fine pair of eyes."

Dean scowled. “You callin’ me a gold digger?”

The tiniest of shrugs rippled over Chuck’s shoulders. “If the helmet fits...”

Dean leaned in. “Look,” he growled, “I know I don’t have much, but I come by it honestly. And so far these two hands have been enough to put Sam through Stanford Law. Now I know that may not seem like much to you, but it means a _hell of a lot_ to me. That kinda money, that kinda _time_...the blood, sweat, and tears...” He would not lay his pain bare in front of Chuck. He would not. "Cas would mean the same to me if he worked at Biggerson's."

He met eyes with Chuck, hoping to find some sort of understanding. He didn't want this fight. Not if he and Cas were going to have a future. 

“We’re not so different, you and I,” Chuck said with a fleeting smile. Dean only snorted. “Family is everything to us both. You have Sam, whom you’ve taken care of all of your life. I have Castiel, for whom I have done _everything_ in my power--to make him _strong_ , to make him _successful_. And to know that one man could come by and ruin it all...? Doesn’t that just make you _livid?_ ”

Dean’s breath rattled as he exhaled. He was right. In a horrible, twisted way, he was right.

“I have a proposition for you,” Chuck began again. “While I can’t very well keep Gabriel from fraternizing with your brother, I imagine that you and Castiel don’t share quite the same social circle.” Dean’s eyebrows knotted in confusion. Chuck wet his lips. “Times must be hard for you, Dean. Believe me, even with our kind of money it is _not_ cheap to send four sons to law school.” Chuck searched Dean for an empathy that never came. “What if I were to help you? Take some of the edge off those bills? A man with a work ethic like yours could own his own shop in no time.”

Dean lost his breath. The notion was buried so deep that Dean didn’t even like to _think_ about it around Bobby: buying him out, putting Bobby on the payroll doing grease jobs while Dean restored classic cars. Winchester Automotive. He’d doodled the logo on stacks of cocktail napkins during slow nights. But that kinda dream didn’t come cheap. Impossible as long as he kept getting bills from the bursar’s office at Stanford.

Chuck’s words pulled him back from his reverie. “And all you’d have to do is just...” he made a beatific gesture, his hands flitting gracefully like angel’s wings, “fade away. Take yourself out of the picture. Out of my son’s life. I’m sure you’ll forget each other soon enough.”

Anger, hot as hellfire, spread through Dean’s entire body. His fist balled at his side, and he stood very, very, still.

Chuck retrieved his wallet from his suit pocket and took out a crisp hundred dollar bill: enough to buy four bottles of the whiskey he’d just drank. He slid it across the bar to Dean. “Think about it.” He rose from the bar stool, turned, and began to walk away.

Dean grabbed the bill in his fist, crumpling it, and threw it with everything he had at the back of Chuck’s head. 

Chuck clearly felt the contact, because he turned quietly, eyebrow raised, eyes steely once more. 

“Take your money and leave.” Dean stuck an angry finger in Chuck’s direction. “And if I _ever_ hear you call Cas ‘defective’ again, I’ll punch your goddamn teeth out.”


End file.
